Unravelling
by summersquares
Summary: Tony helps Gibbs. Slash Don't Like Don't Read. Tag for the end of Season 7 (Borderland, Patriot Down, Rule Fifty-One).
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So I am still new to this fandom and still watching shows that I haven't seen yet. And by watching I mean deftly skipping around to avoid heartache that I have cunningly sussed out by reading fanfic. And yet, I can't skip ALL of the season finales. (Wry smiley face.) So I found myself watching the ones at the end of season 7 (Borderland, Patriot Down, Rule Fifty-One, and ultimately, The Spider and the Fly) where Abby is asked to go to Mexico to teach a class on forensics in cold cases and then of course finds out Gibbs is the one who shot Pedro Hernandez and then Paloma Reynosa has her goon kidnap Gibbs right out of his serape on the beach. Yeah, you know the ones. And I am always struck by the moments when Gibbs shows (and the way Harmon plays) vulnerability. He is almost always struck dumb. Often he looks blank, almost childlike, when he walks away without answering or trying to give any information at all. And at the same time, I am also fascinated by the ways that Tony/MW is on the show. In these eps, Tony has great moments but his interactions with Gibbs are minimal.

I guess I figure that just cause we didn't see them, doesn't mean they didn't happen. And that these two men depend on each other.

This is a one shot. And it is preslash bordering on slash, so if that isn't your thing, please stop reading now. I am finishing the next chapter in Falling currently. I don't know why this story intruded, or why I wrote it, or why I feel like apologizing! Writing is weird sometimes. Happy Sunday!

Later, gators,

Squares July 13, 2014

* * *

Twice in one month. Tony was back in Gibbs' basement tonight, just a few weeks after the case that led to Tony's obsession with that reporter. Rule 10. Never let it get personal. Easiest one to break. Some cases, some people, almost _dare_ you to.

And now, it was all unravelling. Twenty years. Twenty damn years since he pulled the trigger on top of a ridge in Mexico. An event, well planned and executed. No one the wiser. Unravelling. For weeks his father had been staying with him. And then, Mike Franks' return and irascible presence in the house. And now Leon insisting on moving them to a safe house. Every day worse than the one before it. Yesterday. Today. _Now._

Jethro felt as if the bullet had continued to travel through the atmosphere since that day so long ago, speeding along to strike its next target. It's _ultimate_ target? Him. His career. Fuck his career, the people he cared for. Their _lives_. Maybe bullets are like boomerangs, always coming back to the person who threw them. Boomerang Bullets. _What was he thinking?_

Gibbs rubbed the back of his neck, hard. Blinked. He wasn't concentrating. Couldn't concentrate.

_Abby_.

Jesus. Abby is the one who found the evidence. In Mexico. Rule 40. If it seems like someone is out to get you, they probably are. The improbability of Abby standing next to that truck, a 20 year old wreck of a truck, in a dusty town in Mexico—_she was probably carrying a black lace umbrella or some shit like that. Damn, his mind was wandering again_—looking for 20 year old evidence was a flashing neon sign reading "Rule 40".

Gibbs stared, unseeing, at the wood in his hands until the stiffness in his knees intruded. Standing on concrete always did that to him. He put the raw wood down on the bench and reached for the inlay he was working on for the boat.

That Tony was coming down the stairs before he sensed the other man in the house, should have alarmed him. Given the day he'd just had, it didn't even register. With a feeling like resignation, he looked over to acknowledge his senior agent.

_Was Tony here to demand the answers he hadn't demanded earlier today or this week? Not even when the plane doors opened in Mexico and Gibbs climbed in to join him and Ziva? If so Tony'd be disappointed. Gibbs didn't have answers to give. _

_Was he here to bring him an update? It was too late at night. Tony would have called._

_Was he here seeking solace himself? Somehow Gibbs didn't think so._

He turned, just his head. His body faced the workbench, his hands in front of him bracing the inlay, and he felt the tension in his muscles, so familiar. _Go forward. Don't stop, not for anything._

The odor of concrete, of woodshavings, the metallic tang of the sheetrock screws in a pile near the mason jar of bourbon...the smell of his basement was disrupted by the warm drift of air from upstairs, the scent of nighttime Tony: the hint of expensive aftershave, sweat, the office.

_Tony didn't wear cologne,_ Gibbs thought irrelevantly. _What was wrong with him, he couldn't concentrate_. _ It surprised him, that Tony didn't wear cologne. Gibbs figured probably his father wore it, or maybe it was just that Tony was not what he pretended to be, not as flashy or as scattered or as silly as he played._

Gibbs attention returned and he wondered how long he had been looking at Tony, if he had lost time, if Tony had noticed.

Uncharacteristically, Tony hadn't said a word yet. Maybe it hadn't been long. Or maybe Tony had been standing there, staring at him in a silence as marked as his own. Either way. Didn't matter.

Gibbs flicked his eyes over Tony's body. His clothes, his smell...he came right from work, many hours after Gibbs himself.

Gibbs repeated the words he had said to Tony those weeks ago, when Tony came looking for something Gibbs wasn't sure he had.

"You okay?"

Instead of answering—or maybe, Gibbs thought later, Tony did answer, in his own way—Tony said, "You limp."

Gibbs was, he'd admit it, _astonished_. But he only let his voice convey impatience, dismissal. He didn't want to be astonished. Or comforted. Or questioned.

"_What_?" Gibbs bit the word off.

Tony didn't seem to have heard him, just dropped the bag he was holding at the foot of the stairs and stalked forward.

Tony, this time of night, in his basement, was usually tired. Oh always graceful, athlete that he was, but often weary. _This Tony_, though, was another matter. Gibbs was used to seeing _this_ Tony when he was on the chase, or the prowl. Predatory. Focused and intent, despite the fact that he wasn't looking at Gibbs. As the younger man paced toward him, Gibbs squelched the urge to lean back to keep distance. He kept his back rigid but rotated to keep Tony in his sights. Tony passed him and leaned on the workbench, settling himself next to Gibbs.

Tony was talking and Gibbs realized that he hadn't noticed when Tony had started. Tony's voice was smooth and casual, as if he wasn't saying anything important. Gibbs tuned in.

"...wondered. Sometimes it's worse than others. Don't get me wrong. I know the value of a good limp, of training your body to ignore it, to walk through the pain. I'm not sure anyone else has noticed. No one has said anything to me anyway."

"What? What limp?"

Tony made a face. _You know what limp_.

So maybe he was stiff when he first got up after sitting too long. A sniper's life was not easy on the knees.

Tony didn't move his hips but swivelled to reach behind him, grabbed one of the lengths of wood Gibbs kept propped in the corner. He handed it to Gibbs and looked back at him in challenge.

"_DiNozzo…_"

"It's a cane, Boss." And before Gibbs could react to the implication that he was old and decrepit, Tony attacked, striking out with his right fist.

The moves were automatic, the cane—fuck, not a cane, the _dowellstaffstickpole_—spun and knocked Tony's arm where it swung toward him. Tony didn't cry out, obviously expecting the maneuver, and resumed his resting place against the bench, rubbing the sting out of his forearm.

"The _hell_, DiNozzo. You come by to attack me in my own basement?" Gibbs tossed the length of wood aside.

"Just making a point, Gibbs. The limp, and its compensating features...in this case, the cane...make you stronger, in a way."

As Gibbs turned to meet Tony's eyes, a little too close for comfort, he was aware suddenly of what a big guy Tony was, recognized his awareness of this as intentional on Tony's part. A version of rule 40. If you notice, someone wanted you to notice. Tony was damn good interrogator in his own right and just because he often used humor didn't mean he always did. He could personify _menace_ if he so chose. _Is that what this was, an interrogation_?

Tony's face gave nothing away. He was waiting for an answer.

Gibbs had no intention of answering, tipped his head back a little, knew his own eyes were hard. "Why are you here, Tony?"

And Tony smiled suddenly, warmth and humor present in his stance, in the lines of his face. Normal Tony, but also special, since Gibbs so rarely had it turned so solidly on him. He felt the impact, like a bullet. Was this a boomerang bullet too?

Gibbs raised his eyebrow in question and demand. _Well?_

Tony took a breath, let it out. He looked down and the smile faded. "I'm only going to say this next part once, and fast, cause I don't talk about this. _You_ don't talk about this. But I came here tonight to make an offer and I can't make it until I say this first part so just listen, okay?"

Gibbs would have stopped him, the way he had stopped Abby from talking about Mexico, but Tony's reference to himself...maybe this was about Tony and not Gibbs. And Gibbs was in no state to refuse any of his people anything. So he gave a short nod. Waited.

"We carry our pain around with us, you and me. We never let it go. We never did. We never healed, at least not all the way." And now Gibbs did tense, to speak or to move, to stop Tony. He wasn't going _there_ and he sure as hell wasn't going to talk about it but Tony turned, flipped his whole body, fast and precise so that the two men were chest to chest and Gibbs could feel Tony's breath against his face, could smell it, not bad, not minty, no alcohol, just Tony, and Gibbs wondered if Tony could smell the bourbon—

"Instead we made the pain part of us, a kind of armor and it drives us and protects us and it is _ours._"

Tony's words were measured and his voice deepened further when he said this. _Truth_. And truly, something Gibbs would not have expected the younger man to admit or share.

Tony nodded slowly at Gibbs' silence, a small smile still on his face, as if to confirm Gibbs thoughts, as if he knew what Gibbs was thinking. He even looked away, down, a little coy, the same smile playing on his lips seemed to say: _Who knew DiNozzo could be insightful and self-aware?_

If Tony weren't so _close_, if not for the weight of his words, Gibbs would have relaxed.

But Tony's eyes were on his and Gibbs couldn't have looked away if he wanted to.

Tony whispered. "But you are stuck, aren't you, Boss?"

Gibbs found himself answering, also quiet, because Tony seemed to know what he was feeling, that he couldn't concentrate. That he was worried about protecting them all. She threatened his _father_. "Yeah."

Tony nodded again, breathing out, and this time his smile was approving and Gibbs squelched the unfamiliar gladness that sparked in his chest at this approval.

"Let me help you with that?"

Tony's eyes held his and the hope, the possibility that Gibbs could salvage this FUBAR situation, had Gibbs asking, "How?"

Tony breathed out, as if relieved, and stepped back. Gibbs felt his own relief at the release from Tony's unusual proximity, and then almost amusement as Tony paced the basement looking at the long worktables set up to hold his boat as it was constructed. At the moment, though, the boat was in pieces and there was a lot of open space on the flat surfaces making up most of the middle of the room.

Gibbs drew air deeply, but silently—no need to let Tony know he had affected Gibbs so strongly—into his lungs as he watched Tony move things from one table to another and then wrestle one of the seven foot sections free of the others to stand alone in the far corner of the room. One of the legs snagged on something in the floor, probably part of a drain, and Tony looked up to glare at Gibbs, "A little help here?"

Gibbs smirked but crossed the room. Once he helped Tony get the table where he wanted it, he faced Gibbs across the table.

"What are we doing here, Tony?"

Tony seemed hesitant to answer. "You said I could help, right, Boss?"

Gibbs didn't second guess himself, but he could hear the doubt is his own slow drawl, "_Yeeeah._ Why? Is it gonna hurt?"

"No. That's the hard part. You'd like it better if it did."

Now Gibbs was definitely worried. "You'd better tell me, Tony."

"You know I was a Phys Ed major, right, Gibbs?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, I don't know if you ever looked at my transcript, but OSU has one of the best programs in the country and is a feeder to the top pre-med schools in the world and I was top of my class, could have gone myself if I had wanted to. I graduated with a 3.8 grade point average in my classes for my major, including Kinesiology and Anatomy and Physiology."

Gibbs nodded. He knew Tony was smart.

"People think that pain and pleasure, confusion and hatred and ambition and jealousy and all the other things we feel live in the brain, in the heart, and even," he smiled at Gibbs, "in the gut. But they don't really mean that. They really believe the first thing. Mind over matter. Like we can think ourselves out of any problem, that we can push pain away just with the force of our mind and will."

Jethro was interested despite himself. Tony had better control than anyone he knew; his skills undercover were unparalleled. How else did he do that if he didn't intend it, strategize and plan for it?

"But _you_ have it right, Gibbs, it _is_ in your gut, and the pain that you and I push away—that anyone pushes away—is still in our body. These emotions, they stay in our body, and your pain is bigger than most. You are never really relaxed, Jethro." Gibbs didn't miss the deliberate way that Tony said his given name but didn't care, the younger man long since having earned the right to use it when they were alone, "Never. Because you are using your body to carry emotions you never look at. And who am I to judge? I do it too. But it is there, in your posture, in the way you move, and it is part of you, part of what makes you a scary son of a bitch," small grin from Tony, eyes lit up with the zeal of an expert and the glee of a brother son of a bitch, "at the same time that it is also part of what makes us all follow you. The pain lives in your body and it won't be ignored."

"So that's why I limp?" Gibbs went back to Tony's original, baffling, assertion.

Again, an approving smile. "If you actually dealt with your pain, healed, probably your knees wouldn't hurt quite so bad, and you wouldn't limp. If I did the same—_fat fucking chance—_" Tony grinned, unrepentant, "then I wouldn't keep throwing my back out. But I'm not going to and you aren't either. But you _are_ stuck and that means you have two options. Push on the feelings, deal with them...and I think we are agreed that you aren't going to do _that_...or push on where you are holding them."

Gibbs checked, "In my gut?"

"Yeah. And your knees and neck and back and feet and hands and—"

"I got it, DiNozzo. So how—"

Tony turned and walked back toward the stairs, reaching underneath to grab the undersized futon mattress that was Gibbs recent concession to the toll that sleeping under the boat was taking on his body. He hefted the mattress across the room to drape it on the table.

Tony held his hands up, wiggled his fingers, "Magic, Jethro."

The other shoe dropped. "You...are going to give me a massage?"

"If it's okay."

Gibbs had never had a massage—other than the ones that were part of physical therapy and they mostly _hurt _like a fucker. He shrugged. "Okay. You think this is going to help?"

And now, it seemed, Tony was backpedalling. "Do you trust me?"

Again, Gibbs shrugged, "Always have. Trusted you with my life enough times. Don't know that this is anywhere close to that."

Tony's face was serious. "Uh...this might be harder than that."

"What? Why?"

"Because—that's what I was trying to tell you—the pain is actually _in _your body. I'm going to move it around and it will settle other places and you are going to have to trust me that whatever happens, it's okay. That this is just between you, me, and the boat."

Again, a little dip of fear in his stomach. He did trust Tony and his brain told him he was a Marine, he could take any pain Tony could dish out, but Tony knew that and was still warning him.

He took a deep breath. Swallowed. Let Tony see that he understood. "Okay. I trust you."

His gut had been churning for weeks and with it came tension headaches and a terrible fear that he wasn't going to be able to hold it all together, that the web of contingency and safety he had woven into his life and around the people in it, would dissolve and unravel. And they would all fall. Leaving him standing, alone, the only survivor.

If this could help center him, help him get his shit together, it was worth a try. And he did trust Tony.

Tony waited while he thought this through, green eyes steady on his.

"Okay, Tony. What do I do?"

Tony turned away and retrieved the duffle bag he had brought downstairs. A few minutes later, a sheet was draped over the table and clamped in place. Tony tossed Gibbs a towel from the bag.

"Take everything off. Lay down on the table, on your stomach, and you can use the towel to cover up if you want. I'm going to go change upstairs." Gibbs watched Tony disappear up the stairs.

One minute later, he pulled himself up onto the table and tried not to think about the fact that he was naked in his basement. He didn't have to wait long for Tony's return.

"I locked the front door." Tony met his eyes from across the room, and he flicked on the shop light, turned off the overheads. The basement was much too dim for him to work in now, but Jethro figured this was a different kind of work. He watched as Tony retrieved a bottle of oil and a small towel and approached where he lay. Jethro was stretched out face down as instructed, his head turned to the side. Tony was wearing worn jeans and an equally threadbare white t-shirt that strained against the muscles of his upper arms. "Ready?"

As he answered, Jethro could feel the rasp in his voice, vocal chords tense with the unknown. "Guess so."

Tony moved forward, to his side. _Always at his side_. He looked down and Jethro felt vulnerable where he lay, below and in front of the other man, and naked to boot, towel draped awkwardly over his ass. Jethro had found it difficult to get into a comfortable position on his stomach and had to try several times, adjusting his junk so that everything felt okay.

Tony reached out and with a rough finger stroked Jethro's eyelids closed. _Guess he wants me to close my eyes_. Both eyes closed at the first touch of Tony's finger but the younger man still took the time to stroke both eyelids.

With his eyes closed, Jethro felt even more vulnerable, and if not for Tony's hands quickly pressing his shoulders down firmly, he would have called the whole thing off.

"Shhhh." Warm palms rested against his shoulder blades. Jethro repressed a shudder at the pleasure in the touch, any human touch, as well as in this sign that Tony knew what he was doing, knew _him_, and wouldn't let anything bad happen.

Long moments passed and Tony just rested his hands on Jethro's back, heat soaking into his shoulder blades. Jethro wondered if Tony was ever going to give him the massage, but didn't say anything.

The hands didn't move. Tony's voice replaced the worry.

"Let go, Jethro. You aren't in control here. In fact, you won't be able to control much. Remember that you trust me. I'm on your six. Always. Remember that. You don't have to answer..."

Tony's hands moved slowly—_Jethro could feel the slick slide of warm oil on skin so Tony must've rubbed some on his hands—_down his back, over the towel, down his legs. Not much pressure, nothing like a massage as Jethro imagined it, just warmth, and his words.

"Just settle in. I'll know if you need something and if you want me to stop, just say so, but remember that you trust me. This isn't about making you feel good, it's about getting unstuck."

Tony's hands stroked down his calves and feet, firmly enough not to tickle. A brief pause and then freshly slick hands wrapped around his feet. Those strong hands contracted and squeezed and pulled. Tony did it again, starting with his heels and squeezing and pulling slowly, methodically down Jethro's feet to his toes. Again, from his ankles. Again, down his calves. One hand came to hold and press against the crook of one knee and the other pressed knuckles deep along and down the back of his calf.

Jethro almost groaned in relief, in pleasure. It felt so _good_. Again, down the other calf. For the first time, Jethro truly understood that this wasn't going to be an ordeal of pain. This was going to feel _good_. So good that he wasn't sure he'd know what do. The only time his body gave him unadulterated pleasure was when he had sex. _Jesus, what if..._

Tony's hands lifted deliberately but instead of the warm weight of them on the back of his knees again, Jethro felt them come to rest on his shoulders, kneading gently, just like massages on TV. Tony's breath whispered across his cheek and the younger man spoke, again showing he knew just what Jethro was thinking and again, Jethro repressed a shudder.

"It _is_ going to feel good, Jethro. Get used to it. And like I said before, whatever happens, it's okay. You might cry or get hard. You certainly aren't going to be able to keep your body from reacting," Tony moved one hand to stretch and massage Jethro's available ear, along the shell to the lobe. Tony's touch was firm, almost clinical, and yet this felt so unbelievably good that Jethro's body jerked and then settled deeper into the cotton of the pad. He still felt it was a small success to not have moaned, despite the shudder. Tony's deep knowing laugh precipitated another shiver but neither man reacted in any other way.

"Let go." Tony breathed into his ear, and while Gibbs was sorry that the touch of the other man on his ear—_who knew that your goddamned ear would be so sensitive?_ —was withdrawn, he was already looking forward to the next thing that Tony would do.

Gibbs hadn't needed an alarm clock in years, his internal clock unfailing in its accuracy. It failed now.

Tony went back to his legs, his ankles, his feet, stretching the tendons and long muscles. He didn't dig in, or force anything, just pressure and long slow pulls. And yet he also stroked tiny circles in any hollow place. Around his angles, below his toes, in the arch of his foot, the back of his knees. Jethro wanted to moan and thrash and scream already, it felt so good.

Jethro felt heat pooling in his belly, knew he was half hard, but he didn't feel horny or like screwing. It was just his body filling up with pleasure and then releasing it too. With his dick trapped below him, he didn't worry about Tony seeing, knowing, and just let the waves bring him up and then back down again.

Tony moved higher, to the backs of his thighs, and his back too, pressing down in large sweeps with the heel of his hand on the left side of his back, even as Tony's other hand searched for some sort of corresponding place on his right thigh. And when he did find it—Jethro stopped doubting Tony's skills within minutes of feeling the other man's hands on him—it wasn't like an electric shock, it was more like something snapping into place.

This Jethro was familiar with, he thought, from the many hours he had spent in physical therapy through the years. The sharp snap and the sore muscles, the pain that was almost pleasure as he worked his body back to full power.

He was wrong. Tony made the same moves, with tiny changes, over and over again, and the snap, the feeling of something falling into place, came again and again, closer together until there was no time between them and his body was humming with well-being and a deep sense of knowing itself.

His mind wandered and perseverated on the disasters of recent days, despite the ever-present wonder of Tony's hands. But this too was luxury. Hell, if he had to think about it, it was unbelievable that he could do so while feeling so _good_. Paloma Reynosa, Alejandro Riviera, Mike, the girls, his Dad, his team, Pacci, Kate, Shannon and Kelly.

Tony had taken his arm and was pulling it gently out from his body, stretching and then holding it firmly to stroke and press, all the way down to his fingers. Tony held and stroked and played with his wrist and hand for a long long time. And Jethro felt every bit of that touch throughout his body.

Time passed and Tony repeated the same work on his other side. The pause while Tony walked around the table, to get more oil, almost as good as the massage. His body, even without Tony's touch, felt good, so good. Centered and energized, and in that moment he realized he was fully hard now, and Tony's hands returning to the back of his leg, the left one this time, didn't help. Jethro felt the whine leave his throat, wished it was a grunt, felt anxiety creep in.

"You okay?" Tony's voice grounded him, pulled him back. His tone was gently inquisitive, but the low rumble showed that the other man wasn't unaffected himself.

"Yeah." Gibbs cleared his throat a little. "Are you?"

Tony's hands rested on the back of his thighs and he paused while he answered. "Yeah. I haven't done this in a long time." His hands started moving again. Jethro realized that by doing the trick connecting his legs to his back, Tony had deftly avoided touching his backside. A small smile crept across his lips.

"What?" Miffed. "You think I'm rusty?" Insecure.

"You won't get any complaints from me. Hell, I'm afraid some fancy massage place will steal you away from NCIS."

"Oh, so...it's okay then?" Pleasure, tentative pride.

Gibbs felt a laugh bubble up from his gut. "Yeah. It's okay. Better than okay."

The heel of Tony's hand pressed hard at his back even as the other hand pulled and stretched his hamstring. Silence already broken, Gibbs didn't bother to keep from grunting now.

"I wasn't sure you trusted me this much." A smile in his voice but fishing. For what? A compliment? Gibbs didn't respond, waiting for more. "How much do you trust me?" Yeah, fishing but not for a compliment...for permission?

"Told you, Tony. I trust you." That was enough, but Jethro realized something. "More than anyone else."

"On the team?"

"Of anyone."

Jethro felt the towel removed, the cool air of the basement on his ass, and then the heat of Tony's hands, not _on_ his ass, but along his side up to his lower back...yeah, definitely restricted territory.

Jethro figured Tony wanted to ask him again if it was okay, but he didn't.

More time, incalculable, like counting sand, and Jethro was reminded of how time passed while he worked on the boat, the burn of his muscles and the way that his mind emptied.

This was different though, and as Tony touched him, his mind seemed free to jump from thing to thing, the cabin, chopping wood, Kelly reading books to her dolls. Stephanie in the garden. Fornell in jail. Tony in jail. Ziva on the steps of this basement. The feel of Abby's hair against his lips when he kissed her. Running along the reservoir. Stocking the shelves in his father's store, music playing on the radio, the rumble of Jackson's laugh as he talked to customers. Tony slumped in the front seat of a car, hair slicked back, criminal dead at his back. The safe houses he had kept witnesses in. The bug in Vance's office. McGee's growing confidence. Tony's Mighty Mouse stapler.

Tony's hands were low on his hips, dug deeply but without pain, into his lower back muscles, lower, and something inside loosened just that much more, a tiny crack opened, and Jethro felt the pressure in his gut and in his throat ease, shift. He thought of Kelly and Shannon again. Felt wet slipping down the side of his nose.

Tony paused just long enough to wipe his face gently with a towel with one hand, the other resting dead center in his back, warm and reassuring. He moved to the other side of the table.

Tony worked his magic on Gibbs other arm, and then on his back, doing something with pressure and the heel of his hand passing in large circular sweeps. When Tony moved away to get more oil, Gibbs could feel the way his muscles continued to unwind because Tony had set them in motion. He felt vertigo swirl in his stomach, even as Tony's fingers pressed at the base of his neck, threaded into the hair at the base of his skull. Gibbs groaned in pleasure, pressing his face deeper into the cushion.

"What are you doing to me, Tony?" He hoped he didn't sound as vulnerable as he felt.

"Just letting the blood in, Boss."

"You really want to call me Boss right now, Tony? Seems to me that right now, _you_ are the boss."

He could swear he could hear Tony smile. "You gonna remember that tomorrow?"

"Nope." And now he heard Tony laugh.

"How's it feel, having me be the boss, Boss?"

"Pretty damn good, Tony."

"Then roll over, Jethro." _Shit_. Gibbs had been pretty relaxed, and his hard-on had subsided, but at the command in that voice, the _knowing_ in that voice, he felt his cock jump.

"Like it fine here, Tony."

Tony's hands rested on his shoulders and he felt the press of Tony's chest against his side as the other man leaned in to murmur in his ear.

"Nothing I haven't seen before, Jethro."

"That so?"

This laugh was low and dirty and didn't fucking help matters any. "Hell yeah. You didn't think I learned all of this in the classroom, did you, boss?"

Jethro stayed silent. Mostly because he didn't know what to say. He wanted more, _something_, but didn't know…

"Turn over."

Gibbs felt clumsy as he obeyed, the grace and precision of Tony's movement in stark contrast to his own struggles to turn and not fall off the table. He felt Tony's hands helping him, steadying him, and the drop of the towel, heavy on his lap, at least partially weighing down his erection.

Gibbs realized that it hadn't even occurred to him to open his eyes.

Tony stood behind him and his hands moved skillfully over his chest and neck, soothing and calming him before moving on to his head and face.

It was incredibly intimate, Tony's calloused fingers on his ears and on his cheeks, stroking along his forehead and working gently along his nose. Tony's fingers stroked along his eyelids again and Jethro felt him move to his side. Tony's hand never left Jethro's body and even as he changed position, he drew a sweet and steady line down Jethro's throat and sternum, coming to rest just above his stomach. His gut.

"How do you feel?"

"Are you done?

"I don't know. How do you feel?"

"What time is it?"

"I don't know. How do you feel?"

"I feel...good."

"Good."

"Yeah. Good."

Tony laughed, relieved. "Okay. Good. That is, well, good."

Jethro felt silly laying there with his eyes closed. Tony placed his free hand over his eyes.

Jethro was irritated at Tony knowing him so well but his body was still so alive with the pleasure of the massage that it barely registered. _Still_.

"You like being in control, Tony."

"Does that surprise you?"

They weren't whispering but Tony was close and his bare hands still rested on Jethro's eyes and belly. Intimate, and their low voices were intimate too. Jethro turned his head to face where Tony must be standing or leaning. Didn't try to open his eyes.

"In a way. Why did you do this for me?"

"Why did you let me?"

"I asked you first."

"Because I could. Because you were stuck."

"Were?"

"Were. You aren't stuck any more."

Jethro thought about it, grunted in reluctant acknowledgment.

"We done?"

"You said you felt good."

"I do."

"How did it feel, letting me be the boss?"

"Okay."

"Will you let me be the boss a while longer?"

"Why?"

"Because I want you to."

Gibbs' gut was going crazy, wanting what Tony promised. What was going to happen next?

Gibbs waited, let his silence stand for assent.

Tony's breath ghosted over his face. The younger man was close, _close_. "I'm going to need the words, Jethro." Jethro could not stop the low moan, the involuntary bow of his body, so attuned to this man in these last hours as he was.

He breathed out his answer, could almost _almost_ feel the brush of Tony's face against his. "_Yes._"

And then Tony's mouth was on his and his hand was on his cock, both so sweet and hot and pleasurable it truly felt like pain now and Jethro heard himself keening, high and helpless into Tony's mouth even as his stomach clenched and he pressed up up trying to get closer. And in one more minute he would have remembered that he wasn't bound, that his hands and arms could reach and grip too, but instead he let Tony drink from his mouth, pulling the response he wanted from where it trembled on the surface of Jethro's body, where Tony had drawn it, and the pressure and heat of Tony's hand coalesced…

In his experience, orgasms _gripped_ him, caused his body to seize up, to buck and jerk, but now, tonight, after the hours spent with Tony's hands on him, in the moments before the pleasure peaked, he felt his body relax back and down, opening up as the lightning ribbons of heat and come pulsed through his body and spilled out, caught by the towel so conveniently draped across his stomach.

And in that moment, for the first time tonight, he felt Tony falter, his movements harsh and uncoordinated. Tony's mouth was suddenly grasping hard on Jethro's and his right hand came up to clutch at the back of Jethro's head and the side of his face. Tony was making sounds, almost whimpering himself, as he pressed harsh kisses into Jethro's skin.

This too, seemed to last forever, or an instant, but finally, mouths still occasionally pressing together, both of them seeking to draw out the connection, Jethro murmured, "You come too?"

Tony's forehead came to rest, hard, against Jethro's cheek and he admitted it into Jethro's neck. "I couldn't help it."

"I didn't want you to help it." Surprised to find it was true.

Tony lifted his head and Jethro opened his eyes. The basement was too dim to see much, but he didn't need to do anything. He just needed to see Tony's face.

"Take your time."

"Huh?"

He could see Tony's mouth quirk. "Take your time, getting up, you might be dizzy. And drink a lot of water. Flush the toxins out."

"You mean the bourbon?"

Tony smiled, but didn't answer. He rubbed Gibbs chest where his hand rested, one last time, and then straightened. Tony cleared his throat and said, in his normal voice, "I'm going to go change again. See you tomorrow." And he was gone.

Gibbs, relieved to not have to have a conversation while he was naked and Tony was fully clothed, just lay in the dark a while, thinking.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I might have accidentally written a sequel. I hope it's okay.

Thank you for reading and for your kind words in twitter, on FF, A03, via text. Thank you all including Myshame7, katupnorth, kinkykorner, dharmamonkey, megamom2, DiNozzos probie, Cam, Fluffybird, Duxe, AmyH, FlyingPiglet, JETHROluvsTONY, tibbslash, craftyjhawk, gibblette, sailor silvimoon, shadocat, Cindy, 4depthoflove, Charle, sdani, maryhell, rigger42, kbor, gibbsandtonysbabe, josgotglock, possumblossom, bubbie0809, Athena13, Jillebeth, annem, tonysmel, faithinbones, cackymn, and everyone who favorited and left kudos (I kind of love the kudos machine that A03 has going.) In the story, there is an asterisk that is an easter egg to one of cackymn's fics in case you are looking for a challenge. I am, of course, also writing a bunch of stuff for work and moving children from one place to another etc, so while I have read it as many times as I can stand, it was written in a wild rush so please let me know via PM if you see things that need to be fixed.

Squares 7/15/14

* * *

_Four months later_

"Hold the elevator."

Tony slammed his hand against the "door open" button the instant he heard Gibbs start to speak. It was automatic and Tony felt the same mix of rebellion at the programming and illicit pleasure at what felt like submission. He was not a submissive man, but no one knew better than he the rewards of giving up control you so zealously guarded.

5:15 on a Friday afternoon. Tony was usually out like a shot but today he had a few things to finish before going. And he always liked to be around a little longer than everyone else, in case Gibbs noticed, or needed something.

Gibbs joined him in the elevator, glancing over at the number pad and settling against the back.

"Got plans for the weekend?"

Tony turned to look at his boss. "Nothing special. You?"

"Gonna help a friend build a surprise for his wife."

"Really? What kind of surprise do you build? A boat?"

"No a building, a studio, out back of his house. He's got her out of the house tomorrow and Sunday, so it's all hands on deck."

Tony was impressed, intrigued despite himself. "I didn't know…you can do that? Just build a whole building in two days?"

"Oh yeah. I mean, he'll have to do all the finish work inside but we can get it framed and roofed, do enough to keep the weather out. Doesn't take a lot of skill, just a couple people who know what they are doing and some people willing to work."

The doors opened on the parking garage and the two men exited.

"Well...have…fun?" Tony grinned as he cut off toward the right. Gibbs must have left the Yard some time during the day because he was headed for auxiliary parking. He didn't even realize the other man hadn't answered him until Gibbs' called out his name. Tony looked back. Gibbs had stopped and turned, suit jacket in his hand held loosely.

"You want to come?"

Surprise and pleasure at being asked… He didn't have anything planned he couldn't miss. "I don't actually know how to build a barn, Gibbs, you know that right?"

Gibbs smiled, easy, and broader than Tony usually saw. "Nothing to it. Pick you up at 5 tomorrow? Can you be ready that early?"

Tony smiled back. "Nothing to it."

LJG&TD

Despite his best intentions, Tony didn't go to bed until after midnight. He scrambled out of bed ten minutes before Gibbs was due to arrive, threw on clothes and didn't bother to shave. Good thing he had packed the night before. He slammed the door shut behind him and was halfway down the hall when he remembered he forgot something and had to go back for it. He threw himself into the truck, biting his tongue to keep from apologizing—his usual "won't happen again, Boss" substitute for an apology didn't seem appropriate given the circumstances. And then, to make things worse, he fell asleep before Gibbs' truck was probably more than two blocks from his apartment. He woke up two hours later with a crick in his neck, mouth wide open, and alone in a quiet truck. He rolled his neck and blinked his sticky eyes, swallowed, trying to get moisture back in his mouth. They were in the parking lot of a gas station attached to a diner. Tony figured Gibbs stopped for coffee. His stomach rumbled and Tony wondered if Gibbs was going to be mad enough to keep him from eating breakfast.

Tony climbed down from the cab of the truck and stretched, rubbing his hands over his face, trying to wake up. He felt a hell of a lot better, though. Maybe he could make it up to Gibbs by being especially entertaining the rest of the way. _Where the hell were they going anyway?_

Tony pushed open the door to the diner and peered in, smiling despite himself. The place was bustling and cheerful, steamy windows and all, the air redolent with the smell of fried meat and toast and coffee. Just the kind of place Gibbs loved. Maybe he would have a little help putting the man in a good mood. Tony slid into the booth across from Gibbs and met his eyes, letting embarrassment and apology show. Gibbs laughed.

"What?"

"You look like you got caught sneaking a smoke behind the school."

"Well, I haven't exactly been good company so far."

Gibbs shrugged. "Don't need you to entertain me, Tony. You were beat. Although…" And now he looked serious, "you snore like a god-damned freight train."

Tony's head dropped down to the table with a thud of mortification.

"Coffee?" The waitress standing by the table when Tony reared back gave him a smile. "What'd you do?"

"Snored, on the way up."

She gave a belly laugh. "Well, there are worse things."

Gibbs was smiling, if you could call that Gibbsy Mona Lisa uptick to his lips a smile, and the waitress brought him a breakfast sandwich, and Tony was going to build a building. Shaping up to be a pretty good day so far.

LJG&TD

Turned out they were only half an hour from where Gibbs' friend lived. Back in the car, Tony asked all the questions he realized he hadn't asked yet. He figured Gibbs' friend was probably some Marine buddy of his. Instead, Lonnie turned out to be a little younger than Gibbs, probably mid-40s, and someone Gibbs had met out on the water, through the marina where Gibbs sometimes kept a boat. They fished together some but the reason for the easy friendship, in Tony's mind, was summed up when Gibbs warned him that Lonnie "didn't talk much." He had an artist wife, Joannie, who did some sort of work with fabric, and for their fifth wedding anniversary, he wanted to build her a studio of her own on some of the land surrounding their house, a house that perched on the side of a mountain.

For a guy who didn't talk much, Lonnie had a lot of friends, most of whom talked a lot and while there didn't happen to be any women in evidence this weekend, there were 10 of them altogether, ready to take direction from Lonnie and Gibbs on building the ambitious studio space. It was going to be two stories tall although only one floor, with a small loft and a lot of windows. Tony hoped he'd see it done sometime. Lonnie, it turned out, was a well-known craftsman in musical circles, making instruments to spec. Between he and Gibbs, they seemed to have the building all planned out: Gibbs directing the overall structural design and Lonnie making sure they left room for the fiddly bits.*

It was sunny and hot and surprisingly fun. Hard work, but the most experienced men helped give direction and those directions were unambiguous and not a matter of life or death for a change. Tony mostly provided a lot of manual labor. He hauled supplies, braced and held beams and did what constituted, in his mind, Miscellaneous Manly and Constructiony Business. Eventually he was allowed to cut lengths of wood once Gibbs showed him how to use the power saw. For some reason, probably as a result of some _Magnum_ episode or another, he felt the pinnacle of success in this building stuff would be nailing shit together. He couldn't help but grin when, in the late afternoon, Gibbs handed him a hammer. Gibbs' eye roll said that he knew just what Tony was thinking but Tony saw that little smile touch his lips before Gibbs turned away. They built walls on the ground and then pushed them up to form the frame of the house. At around 2, they stopped for sandwiches but pressed on until 6:30, about an hour before sunset. It already looked like a house. A house that Wonder Woman would live in, but still, a _house_.

LJG&TD

That night, Lonnie had a ballgame on the big screen in the den of what Tony persisted in calling the Big House and guys had claimed sleeping spaces all over the house, tossing their gear in the guest rooms and on couches. Tony had had a great time at dinner and watching the game. Gibbs seemed to be having a good time too but despite the fact that Tony wasn't with him all the time, and probably out of habit, he noticed when he saw Gibbs slip outside. He excused himself and followed.

Pushing open the screen door, he called after the older man, "Where are you going?"

With even a 30 second headstart, the man was already just a dark shape in the gloom, moon just coming up, but a flash of white revealed his face when he turned. "I'm going to sleep outside. Thought I'd grab my gear, get set up."

Glad, really glad, that he had anticipated this and borrowed camping equipment last night from a friend, Tony said, "You mind company?"

If he expected surprise, he was disappointed, but he could just barely make out Gibbs' shrug. "Suit yourself. You have a sleeping bag? Lonnie's probably got an extra."

"I brought some stuff with me."

"Okay. I thought I'd set up by the studio. It's dry up there, and far enough from the house so you can see the stars. Come on up when you are ready."

Tony went back in and watched the end of the ballgame. He used the bathroom, grabbed a six pack, said goodnight, and went after Gibbs.

LJG&TD

"You alright? Different kind of work from what we're used to."

Tony rolled his shoulders, his right one in particular twinged at the unfamiliar strain on it. "Yeah. I'm good." He smiled where he sat at the small fire Gibbs had made. Tony had noticed Gibbs piling rocks off to the side of the new studio just after lunch, when guys were just starting to get organized again. He saw now that he was building a small fire pit for Lonnie and his wife. He and Gibbs sat on one side of it, just far enough apart that they could face each other comfortably.

"You did good. You'd think you've done this before."

"Nope. Hopefully my side of the house won't fall down." He laughed.

"Nah. You did good. Thanks for coming. Appreciate the help."

"No problem. I'll put it on my resume. And Lonnie's a good guy. I'm glad to help."

They fell into a comfortable silence broken by equally comfortable small talk about work. Tony found himself yawning after just one beer. Gibbs hadn't fed the fire in a while and it was getting smaller. Tony shivered and realized that while it wasn't even ten yet, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into his sleeping bag.

As if he could read Tony's mind, Gibbs rose and rolled out a waterproof tarp, a mat, and his sleeping bag. "Tarp's big, Tony. If you put your bag over here, it'll keep the damp out."

So Tony put both his mats (he borrowed everything Dorney had, hoping it'd help him sleep on the ground) and the extra heavy sleeping bag on the tarp with Gibbs. The tarp was big enough that there was still a foot or more space between them. Still, Tony was too tired to deny, in the privacy of his own head, that he was glad to be close, to be here with the other man.

Tony kicked off his shoes but left his socks on. It was early fall, wouldn't get too cold at night but Tony didn't want to chance it. He hated having cold feet. He watched Gibbs carefully and when the other man dropped his jeans and slid into his own sleeping bag with just boxers on, Tony took the cue and did the same. It didn't take long, really, before they were both on their backs, looking up at the stars. Tony stretched and despite the fact that the ground had never felt harder, he could feel sleep pressing at the edges of his consciousness. He groaned a little as he got comfortable.

"You're gonna be sore tomorrow." Gibbs commented.

"Yeah, but Joannie'll have a barn."

Gibbs laughed. "It's funny you keep calling it a barn."

"It's a barn-raising, Gibbs. It's a barn. Has to be. Aren't you sore?"

"A little. Not too bad. I do stuff like this more often than you."

"So maybe you should give _me_ a massage." Tony joked, eyes closed.

"I don't know how."

"That's the great part about massages. They are great when you get someone who really knows what they are doing, like me," Tony wondered if Gibbs was smiling at his boast, but didn't feel like opening his eyes to check, "but they are pretty much great no matter who is giving them."

Tony was half asleep before Gibbs spoke again.

"Never said thank you."

"Still haven't." Tony mumbled sleepily, not alert enough to pretend not to know what Gibbs was talking about.

A little snort from Gibbs. Another long silence. Tony fought sleep now, though, wondering if there would be more, and decided to push a little.

"Not going to, are you? You just can't do it." He made sure his voice was soft, teasing.

"Felt good, Tony. I felt good for days. You did a good job."

"How long did it last?" Tony had wanted to ask before now but didn't want to bring it up if Gibbs didn't want him to.

"I noticed that my knees were better for a while, at least a week. And of course, we got the Reynosas. I was glad to have my head on straight for that. You helped."

Tony figured it was as close to a thank you as he was going to get. He couldn't think of a way to ask but he wanted to know how it had been for the other man, but given the way it ended—not the usual way he concluded massages—he was afraid to go there.

"Surprised me."

"What did?"

"The things that felt good. You know, like ears and ankles and knees. I didn't know that there were so many nerves there or whatever. Felt good. Real good."

Tony knew he was showing his insecurity but it was dark and no one could see, so he let his relief and pleasure come through in his voice. "I'm glad. I was glad that you let me do that for you. Amazed really, that you trusted me that much. You didn't fight me at all."

"Well, I have been trusting you a long time now."

"I trust you too, Boss. I probably should have said that sooner."

"Jethro." Gibbs corrected.

Tony didn't ask what he meant by that. "Jethro." He risked a little more. "What felt the best?"

"Besides the obvious?" _Jesus, the man just went there._ And, in typical Gibbs fashion, kept right on going, as if he hadn't just dropped a bombshell. "My ears. My hands and feet. I guess that I should have expected that, working with them the way I do. Just surprised me how you rubbing my hands and feet made my whole body relax."

"There's a difference between what feels the best in the moment and what feels the best over time, what lasts the longest. Hands and feet are great for relaxation, but because you immediately start walking around and picking things up, they don't really stay relaxed. Working the muscles in your neck and back and legs are better for that."

"Makes sense."

Tony was almost asleep again when Gibbs added, "Not what stayed with me the longest though. Not what I think about first, when I think about it."

"Mmmm?"

"You pretty much touched every part of my body, one way or another." Gibbs voice was low, almost like he was talking to himself. Maybe he counted on Tony being mostly asleep, not remembering this tomorrow. "I could…feel them all, your hands on all those places, the next day, the day after that, but some things stayed longer."

Tony pitched his voice low, tried not to interrupt the flow of words. "Where?"

"I…" Gibbs cleared his throat. Gibbs was trying to tell him something, that he was affected by something in particular. Tony waited but he swore he could feel the moment when Gibbs decided not to say the words, decided to say something else instead. "What I told you before really."

Tony shifted up, rolled to his side, propped his head on his hand braced against his pillow. He felt as much as saw Gibbs turn his head to look at him in the dark. With his free arm, Tony leaned over and reached out and touched Gibbs' hand, stroked across his fingers like he was playing a harp. Paused, in question.

Gibbs answered. "Yeah."

Tony had to lean down a little more to gently graze Gibbs knee where it made a small bump in the sleeping bag.

Gibbs didn't answer, but Tony knew he was being watched and there was enough of a moon, enough ambient light, that he could see the gleam of Gibbs' eyes in the dark, see the way Gibbs had folded his arms behind his head to rest against. Gibbs looked relaxed but Tony could signs of the tension in the stillness of body next to his.

"And not the obvious, huh? So…" Tony murmured this to let Gibbs know he wouldn't be making the moves on him, but then reached out and touched first one ear, and then the other. Despite some light, it _was_ mostly dark so he couldn't help it if the back of his fingers and hand grazed the other man's cheek.

Gibbs smiled at this touch. Ears. "Yeah." He acknowledged.

"Did I get them all?"

When Gibbs didn't answer, Tony knew there was something else, could tell that he didn't answer because he couldn't. He wanted to. But he couldn't.

"Can I guess?"

Another long pause. Tony reached out and touched the older man's eye, the lid closing automatically and Tony's finger slid across gently. When his eyes opened to catch Tony's, there was humor there. Tony made a face that Gibbs could see even in the dark. "No? Hmmm." He didn't feel like moving. "Feet?" Damn, he wished he could see more of Gibbs' expression. He wanted to turn the fucking light on, dammit. He could see enough though, and intuit the rest. Gibbs was partly hoping he'd guess, partly hoping he wouldn't; both unable to say and on the verge of shutting this down but curious enough to let Tony have his way a little longer. "One more try…"

Tony remembered the way Gibbs' body responded to the line he drew down the man's throat, sternum. He reached out and lay a hand on Gibbs' chest, near his heart, felt the not-so-slow thrum beneath his palm and through the t-shirt Gibbs was wearing, despite the cool night air. He felt the air leave Gibbs' body. Not in a rush, not like he was holding his breath, but in release. Disappointed and relieved.

"Not right, huh? Well, I'll just to have to keep guessing. Or," Tony lay back down, slipped his arms under the down sleeping bag and turned on his side to face Gibbs, "Or you could just tell me."

Gibbs mouth quirked a little but otherwise he didn't move. Tony thought that Gibbs might stay awake all night, laying there, looking up at the stars.

"Night, Tony. Glad you came."

"Night, Jethro. Me too."

Tony closed his eyes and willed his body to relax. He was keyed up now, wondering what it was that plagued Gibbs, held a place in his memory. And it wasn't the obvious. Huh.

LJG&TD

"Tony. Wake up."

Anyone else would've had to poke and prod him, call his name twenty times. At Gibbs' voice, Tony's eyes snapped open and he sat up, wide awake. Sort of. "What is it, Boss? You get a call?"

"No, but it's about an hour to sunrise."

"Really? That's…interesting. Why is that interesting, Jethro?" Tony ran a hand through his hair, pressed the button on his watch that lit the dial up. 5:52 am. Tony lay back with a thud, shivering at how the cold air had already seeped into his sleeping bag.

"I'm going swimming. I wanted to check to see if you wanted to come." Tony could hear the certainty in Gibbs' voice that he would _not_ want to come.

"You just woke me up to torture me." Tony moaned into his pillow and rolled over away from the other man, pulling the down covers up over his shoulders. "No one goes swimming in the dark and cold at dawn in September."

The throaty laughter reminded Tony that he liked the other man.

He could hear Gibbs moving around behind him and snarled. "I can hear you, you know…gathering up birch branches, swigging castor oil. Probably getting ready to eat kale." The laugh came again.

"I'm not going because it's good for me, Tony." The other man was entirely too cheerful this fucking early in the morning. But despite himself, Gibbs' laughter, his pleasure at teasing Tony because that was what this was, _teasing_. He woke Tony up on _purpose_. Just for the fun of it. Tony pressed his face deeper into the pillow, to hide his smile, stifle his own laughter. _Fuck_.

"Fine!" He threw the covers off and jumped up to stand, in t-shirt, boxers, and socks, hoping to surprise the other man. He'd never know because he couldn't see a damn thing. No light, no fire, moon long set, sun not yet up. "_Jesus_, Gibbs. Where the hell are you? And it is _freezing._ We're going swimming? Now?"

Suddenly, Tony could sense the man, right up close, felt the warm brush of words on his face. "Trust me?"

Tony shivered, once. The soft murmur wasn't a request. It was a dare. He swallowed, gathered his wits, his bravado. "Just this once."

Another laugh from Gibbs, another shiver from Tony. Gibbs reached out and gripped Tony's wrist firmly. "Hold on to my shoulders if you need to. It isn't far, but we have to walk down a path in the dark.

Now that Tony's eyes were adjusting, he could make out the major shapes of trees and…well, more trees, but he still ended up with his hands clamped on Gibbs' shoulders, following him into the dark. The trail sloped downward and ended at smooth wooden planks that Tony felt before he saw them, even through his socks.

"If you take your socks and shirt off, Skippy, they'll be dry for you when you get out."

"Bo- Jethro, we don't have any towels."

"Don't worry, Tony. I've got it covered." And with that, Tony felt the boards shudder below his feet as Gibbs paced away from him and then heard the splash as Gibbs jumped or dove into the…pond? Lake?

"Gibbs?"

"Just walk out to the end, Tony." Disembodied and all too distant as it was, the voice was still warmth in the night.

Slowly, feeling his way with his feet, socks still reassuringly in place, Tony made it to the end of the small dock. He sat down, took off his socks, and hung his legs over the edge until his heels touched water. "Ah-ah-ah-ah….Gibbs! It's cold."

"Don't be such a baby. C'mon." Gibbs didn't bother to encourage him beyond that and waited patiently, and silently, while Tony took off his shirt then inched his way into the mystery body of water.

"Gibbs…what is this anyway? A lake? A pond? Does it have fish in it? Does it…oh shit that's cold…fuck, my knees…does it have eels? God, I hate eels….I don't actually know anything about eels but they don't seem…ah! What was that?…something slippery…ew…an eel?…no, wait…okay, it's a leaf…oh shit, the moment of truth…this is the worst part…ah-ah-ah-ah…"

"Tony for Chrissakes just get in already. You are making it so much worse."

"Easy for you to say!" But he went ahead and dropped the last foot, plunging into the frigid water up to his neck, and moaning. "Oh, _shit_ that is cold."

Gibbs voice was suddenly close. "Why is it easy for me to say?"

"Cause you are already in, dammit. Don't expect me to make sense!"

Gibbs laughed out loud now, and the sky must have been getting lighter because Tony could see him fall backwards to float on his back in the water. Tony was treading, attention split between Gibbs and bloodsucking eels. _Were those even real?_ His cousin used to threaten him with them. Maybe that was two things. Trying to push those thoughts away, Tony gingerly leaned back himself, eventually floating on the marginally warmer surface of the…lake. Yeah, we'll call it a lake. That's better than a pond. Not as good as a swimming pool, but better than a pond.

"Why is a lake better than a pond?" Shit, he must have said that out loud.

"Uh…I'm not sure."

"Here." Tony almost drowned himself in fright when he felt the touch of the other man's hand on his own, but once he recovered from thinking an eel was about to swallow and bite him—never_mind_ that didn't make any sense—he grabbed on to the other man's hand without any self-consciousness at all.

Finally, _finally,_ Tony felt his body relax. The warmth and strength in Gibbs' hand around his was more reassuring that it would have been normally even. He floated, kicking occasionally, trying to enjoy this, trying to stay quiet. His hair floated around his head. He was cold, but once he accepted that, he…almost…enjoyed the silky feel of water on his bare chest and stomach.

Gibbs broke the silence with a sigh. "Go ahead, Tony."

"Is this a lake?"

"Lonnie calls it a pond. I don't think it has any outlet."

"Are there fish in it?"

"Little ones. Nothing worth fishing for…or worrying about."

"Frogs?"

He could hear the smile in the other man's voice. "Just a few. They like it near the edge anyway."

Gibbs was lying to him and Tony didn't even mind.

"Uh…what about…eels?"

"Never seen one here. Used to catch em with traps in a lake back home. Bottom feeders so don't worry about it. Plus freshwater eels are small and don't have any teeth or anything." Tony resolved not to put his feet down. "That it?"

"For now."

"Can you relax? I promise, you'll be glad you did this."

"Because it's good for the soul, get in touch with nature, all of that?"

"Yeah, that. And maybe another reason."

Tony took a deep breath, felt his body float upwards a little, and let it out, sink back down. Gibbs had shifted his hand so their fingers were woven together, and Tony knew he was holding on hard enough to hurt. Tony noticed color at the horizon, tried to relax his hand. "S'nice."

As if that was his cue, Gibbs tugged. "C'mon. With me."

Tony managed to get back to the dock and pull himself out of the water, all without touching the bottom of the pond. He didn't bother to put his socks on, he had a hard enough time wrestling his shirt onto his wet body and Gibbs had _not_ brought towels, and he was sorry about the socks because he felt every stick and pine needle on the unexpectedly steep path back up to the campsite . They didn't end up at their sleeping bags, though. Instead, Tony could see the back of the house about a 200 yards ahead and here, at the bottom of the slope, overlooking the pond, facing the sunrise, probably only a few minutes away now, was something that Tony recognized. A hot tub. A huge, woodburning hot tub.

"I think I love you."

Gibbs laughed again, let go of his hand to go add wood to the fire. "I started it before I woke you up. I think the others will join us at some point but for now it's all ours and the water," He reached down, "should be just right."

Tony could confirm this assessment, because he was already settling into a seat. He hadn't even bothered to take his shirt off and he pulled it off now, soaking wet, and tossed it over the edge to land on the grass. "Oh damn. This feels sooooo good." Tony moaned. Gibbs was right, damn him. After the cold of the lake, the heat of the water now felt incredible. He sensed the other man settling across from him, felt the brush of his legs as they settled.

Tony's head was tipped back against the side, eyes closed, but then he remembered, snapped his head up to check. "Gibbs, the sun is almost up."

From across the tub, Gibbs rolled his head to face Tony and opened his eyes lazily. "Happens every day, Tony."

Tony smiled and stopped trying to hide how happy he was to be here, with Gibbs. He didn't know what this was, what was happening, what started that night in Gibbs' basement, but it felt too good to stop. "Yeah, but this is special." He met the bright blue eyes with his own. "Don't you think?"

No trace of a smile on his face now, Gibbs answered. "Yeah. I do."

Tony let himself slide down into the water and pop back up, hair slicked back and heat permeating every pore of his being. Did it again, this time sinking to the bottom and bringing Gibbs' foot back up with him. He settled back into the seat with the other man's foot in his lap.

Gibbs didn't question him, just relaxed, stretched out and closed his eyes. Tony moved his hands over Gibbs' foot, pressing in a way that had already become familiar. He knew that Gibbs had some scar tissue built up on this foot from some sort of surgery and he worked his thumbs around it, and then pressed and stretched the other man's arch before rubbing the base of each toe. Gibbs groaned and now _he_ slipped beneath the water. Tony grinned, feeling like he had won the lottery.

Gibbs settled again and met his eyes. "Feels good, Tony."

"Give me the other one too."

Gibbs complied, letting both feet sit in Tony's lap.

And then Gibbs face turned, as if at a sound, to catch the first rays of sunlight. Tony wanted to see too but couldn't look away from Gibbs. Jethro's face, with its strong, almost aesthetic edges, was lined, much more so than when Tony first worked for him, but relaxed like this, happy like this, they were much less pronounced. The older man turned back to Tony. His brows drew together slightly and his chin jerked.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just…I have never seen you so obedient."

"You keep doing that and I'll do anything you want."

Tony knew he didn't mean _anything_. But what if it was true? As Tony watched, Jethro closed his eyes firmly, as if to end the conversation. But his feet didn't move.

Tony knew what _he_ couldn't stop thinking about, when he thought about that night in Gibbs basement. And, like Gibbs, it wasn't the obvious. He wondered…maybe they both couldn't forget the same thing...

Gibbs was still Gibbs, though, and his feet were firmly on the floor of the hot tub before Tony registered the voices coming down the hill. "Jethro! I knew there was a reason I invited you." Practically a speech, for Lonnie, and the warmth and affection in his voice made Tony smile. Gibbs smiled too, moving over for the two newcomers to join them.

Once Tony's alone time with Gibbs was over, he didn't stay in the hot tub long.

Gibbs asked, as Tony rose, steam coming off his wet shoulders in the cooler air, "You done?"

Tony smiled back at him as he grabbed one of the towels that Gibbs had put near the fire. "You sit. I'm going to go take a shower."

He thought that maybe he felt Gibbs' eyes follow him back to the house.

LJG&TD

They left in mid-afternoon to drive back to the city. The studio was mostly together—roof, walls, floor—and Tony was pretty pleased with himself for his involvement. He offered to drive back, let Jethro sleep, but the other man just shook his head and climbed behind the wheel. Lonnie had invited him back to see it when it was finished and Tony accepted with pleasure, shaking Lonnie's hand and waving to the others as he joined Jethro in the truck.

"We'll be back by six. You gonna sleep again?"

"Hey! I can stay awake. We can talk about…stuff. And things." Tony looked out the window as they drove through town and despite himself, stretched and yawned.

Jethro shot him an amused look and flicked the radio on, turning the knob until he found a baseball game. "Go to sleep, DiNozzo."

Tony tried to think about how he could position himself so he didn't snore and drool. He turned to the side, facing Gibbs, and let the sound and feel of the road lull him to sleep.

He woke about fifteen minutes from home, having slept through a stop for gasoline and a brief thundershower. He opened his eyes, in the same position he was in when he fell asleep. From the stiffness in his muscles and the fact that his left arm was partly numb, he hadn't moved. Gibbs glanced over, "Feel better? You were out cold." The other man checked the rearview mirror, changed lanes, turned his attention back to Tony. "You didn't even snore."

Tony sat up, smiling a little, and stretched. "I was tired."

Gibbs just smiled.

"'M'hungry." Stretched again.

"A simple man."

Tony turned to look at the other man, flashed the charm smile. "That's right. You want to get dinner?"

At the brief hesitation, Tony nodded. "Just drop me at my place, Jethro. I'll see if Abby wants to meet for dinner. She is not going to _believe_ I built a house." He pulled out his phone and was texting as he spoke.

"Tony…"

Tony looked over and answered, careful. "Jethro. It's fine. I just had two hours in dreamland. You need basement time. Not a problem." He thought about thanking him for the weekend, wanted to, but it seemed awkward, somehow, as if it would make a bigger deal of something than he wanted.

The buzz of his phone caught his attention. "Oooh, she's in a bowling tournament. Ziva and McGee are going too. If you can drop me home, that would be great."

Gibbs swung into the parking lot behind Tony's apartment, taking up two spaces and shutting the engine off. The two men climbed out and went around back. The smell of ozone and wet asphalt was strong, but golden strands of late afternoon sun made everything shiny. The engine ticked and the sound of traffic was muted by the buildings. Gibbs dug out Tony's duffel out of the back of the truck and Tony grabbed his sleeping bag and the mats, piling everything on the side by the back door.

Before he could chicken out, Tony followed Gibbs—Jethro—back around the truck to the driver's side and before the other man could open the door, Tony crowded close behind him, placing a hand on the back of his neck, on the strip of bare skin above his t-shirt. Gibbs' body went still, but he didn't turn or speak.

"I have another guess. Jethro."

The other man's head tipped back slightly. Listening.

Tony's hand tightened, squeezing then releasing; his thumb made small circles against the tanned skin, slightly gritty from sweat. Tony lifted his hand, touched Jethro's earlobe and then let his hand drift down Jethro's shoulder, arm, elbow, to cover the older man's hand, slipping his fingers through the other man's lightly. He shifted slightly closer, his chest brushing Jethro's back.

"Not your ears. Not your hands or feet. Your chest. Your neck." Close as he was, he saw goosebumps raised on the back of Jethro's neck. "Turn around and let me guess again."

Jethro turned around.

His face was impassive; they might as well be in the middle of the bullpen. But his eyes were not. They were not calm, not anything Tony had seen before. The thought flitted through his mind that there was a reason the man had four wives. But instead of feeling daunted, Tony thrilled to the challenge. Not exactly inexperienced at desire himself.

Tony's hand had stayed on the back of Jethro's neck when he had turned, and now he used that hand to draw the other man toward him. Without dropping his eyes or giving any indication of what he was going to do, Tony pressed his mouth to Jethro's. And whether he had expected it, known, or just was hoping, Jethro's mouth was open, hot, and accepting under Tony's. And yes, they were equals in this, and yes, Gibbs was Gibbs and therefore knew what people were going to do before they did, but now, _now_, Jethro's eyes closed helplessly and his head tipped back as Tony slid his hand up to cup the older man's face, slide his lips over Jethro's, drawing passion up and through the submission, Jethro giving up control as sweetly and easily as he had slipped into water at sunrise.


End file.
